


The Double Solo Job

by walking_tornado



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after the three remaining Leverage team members part ways, Eliot's appearance complicates Parker's solo heist.  (Post-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Double Solo Job

> 6:00 pm — arrive at the Belfontaine mansion 
> 
> 6:02 pm — acquire server's outfit 
> 
> 6:10 pm — present as a replacement server for the private art show 
> 
> 6:15 pm — set out glasses and napkins / check out security 
> 
> 6:30 pm — serve wine/check out the guests / lift IDs for fun 
> 
> 6:45 pm — serve hors d'oeuvres /spit out slimy shrimp thing — bleck! / locate mark who just arrived from his secured area 
> 
> 7:00 pm — serve more drinks and finger foods / keep eye on mark and wait for the package to be transferred / bored-bored-bored
> 
> 7:30 pm — try not to hit the people who ask for stuff / search for the courier who will handlethe package transfer 
> 
> 7:45 pm — note shift in security personnel movements: courier must be here 
> 
> 7:46 pm — locate courier . . . 

. . . SHIT! 

Parker's plan fell apart as soon as she saw the man who entered. What the hell was Eliot doing here? 

"Hello?" 

"Nick, there's a problem," Parker said into the phone from under the wine table. The long white tablecloth effectively hid her from Eliot's view. 

"I'm sorry, Nicholas, is unavailable. But as he works for me, maybe I can be of assistance." The congenial tone put Parker on edge. In the half-dozen times she'd lifted items for him over the years, the middleman had always spoken with her directly. 

"I'd rather speak with Nick." 

"Well, you are speaking with me. I'm Reg Higgins. You said there was a problem." Ah, and there it was: the ring of cold steel underneath the friendly voice. 

Under the table, Parker clenched her eyes shut. This was becoming a really bad day. She mentally cursed Nick's professionalism at refusing to divulge his clients. She now only half-hoped the man wasn't dead. 

"I know the courier sent to retrieve the package from Belfontaine, and I . . ." 

Higgins' annoyed sigh in her ear stopped her from continuing. "I don't care. Nick hired you for me, to get that little rabbit for my wife's birthday. She collects them." 

Parker scrunched her face, cupped her chin and rested her elbow against her knee. She drummed her fingers against her cheek as she first thought of then dismissed options. She would never have taken the job had she known the client's identity, but since she'd already accepted . . . health-conscious people didn't back out of an arrangement with Reginald Higgins. 

"You came highly recommended," Higgins continued, "and I paid a generous retainer. Are you saying that you can't do this little job?" The warning in Higgins' voice came clearly through the phone. 

Parker shook her head, then remembered and said, "No sir." 

"Good." The dial tone sounded in her ear, and Parker snapped shut the pilfered cell phone. 

Parker stared at the phone without seeing it. She visualized the tiny, intricately worked crystal rabbit, encrusted with jewels and painted with gold highlights. She visualized the blueprint of the Belfontaine manor and she peeked out to catch a glimpse of Eliot, who had not yet approached any of Belfontaine's men. He simply walked around the room, and his slow circling eventually brought him to the security guard on the back wall. Parker's eyes narrowed in exasperation. 

This exchange, when Belfontaine passed along the stupid jeweled bunny to whoever had bought it, should have been the best time for her to make the lift. The courier would have had an accidental run-in with the inept new server: whoops, so sorry. In no time Parker would have exchanged the bejewelled rabbit for a hefty sum of money. 

But it wasn't supposed to be Eliot. Eliot would take one look at her and know. 

Time to play to her other strength and be direct. 

***

Eliot accepted the unmarked box from Carl Belfontaine with a simple nod, after he had inspected the contents, and sent a quick text confirmation to his client that the package had been received. Eliot had nothing to do with the payment—that had likely been taken care of electronically — for this job, he was simply a delivery boy. He slipped the little box into a hidden pocket in his suit jacket, and strolled away from the rendezvous point. 

He had not identified any threat on the way in, but his senses were now heightened given his situation. There had been many bidders for this particular trinket, and a couple of them had not been pleased to be outbid. When small fingers grabbed his arm in an effort to tug him aside, it was only the color of the woman's hair that stopped a potentially lethal response. He withheld his gut reaction for the perilous moment it took for him to recognize her. 

"Parker?" His surprise at seeing his friend and former partner came out as anger. Then he felt actual anger, and tamped it down.

***

_(8 months ago)_

_"Tickets, man. Saturday's game," Eliot said as he walked into their main conference area behind the Bridgeport Brew Pub. "Don't say I never get you anythi—" He stopped short when he encountered a stack of boxes by the door. "Hardison? What's this?" Eliot picked up a cardboard box and carried it around to the center table to look inside._

_"Aw, Come on! I just moved it out, don't you be bringing it back in." Hardison wound a bunch of wires, tied them with a zip tie, and tossed them into a corner piled with various electronics. He took a short stepladder and walked it to the formerly impressive projection video system. Eliot dropped the box so that it landed on the table with a crash, and Hardison paused on the stepladder, frozen in mid-reach towards the half-dismantled screen._

_What?" Hardison said, in response to Eliot's glower. Eliot glanced from the dangling wires, to the stack of boxes and dismantled electronics. "Oh, well, that. . . ask Parker." Hardison's mouth pressed together in a thin line and he fixed his eyes on a bolt that he began to unscrew._

_"Okay," Eliot said, and made an effort to unclench his teeth before he broke something. He ignored the pang in his chest with practiced nonchalance. "Where is she?"_

_"She — it wasn't working. She left."_

***

Parker motioned to an unoccupied hors d'oeuvre table with her eyes. Eliot allowed her to lead him there and unobtrusively pressed against the package with the inside of his arm to reassure himself of its presence. He saw Parker noting the gesture and he stopped walking. 

"No," he said. "Don't." This is not how he would have liked to meet her again after all these months. She looked good. Focused. Damn. "What are you doing here Parker?" 

Parker rolled her eyes. 

"Hi Eliot. You're messing things up. I need that bunny." 

Eliot gave her an incredulous shake of his head. "No. That's not happening." He paused. "Who are you working for?" 

For a moment he thought that she might not tell him. "Higgins." 

"Parker! He's . . ." There were some people Eliot would not work for—now, anyway. Reginald Higgins was one of them. "He's not a nice guy, Parker. Bit crazy." 

Parker glared at him. "Whatever. Anyway . . ." 

Eliot shook his head. "I'm taking this to my client. Tell him you won't take the job." 

It was Parker's turn to shake her head. "Already accepted." 

"I gave my word," Eliot said, "that this thing goes from Belfontaine to my client. I gave my word, and that's what I am going to do." Eliot kept his face stone. He wouldn't go back on his word; there wasn't much else he had left. 

They stared at each other, until Parker looked away. "Fine," she said, and chewed on her lip. 

Eliot frowned. "Parker . . ." 

"I said fine! I gotta go." 

"Wait," Eliot said, but Parker had already begun to retreat. "Meet me tomorrow night at the bar on Rosemont and 3rd." He thought Parker nodded, but he couldn't be sure. "Don't go back to. . ." But Parker had already disappeared into the crowd, in the opposite direction. 

Eliot wanted to go after her, to ask her what had happened, but it would have to wait until they met up later. He smiled as he saw the top of Parker's blond head weave its way to the servers' door. He had made a commitment, so he continued towards the lobby with the package still safely tucked away. 

Higgins. 

The people in his path moved aside when they saw Eliot's scowl. 

***

_(Two weeks ago)_

_With a magnetized and bendable screwdriver, Parker removed the last screw holding the ventilation cover. She checked the room with a retractable mirror before she tilted the cover and eased it back into the shaft with her. Holding the edge of the opening she flipped herself out, and, with a calculated push, she landed inside the laser grid beside a small statue set on a pedestal in the center of the room. Resisting the urge to grab the thing and go, she examined it carefully. Seeing tell-tale signs that the pedestal was weight-sensitive, she used one of Hardison's quick-fix techniques to deactivate it, while ruthlessly quashing thoughts of her failed relationship. She hesitated before taking the statue, and as an added precaution, she added some superglue around the edges, just in case her hacking job had been insufficient. Without any wasted movement, she wrapped the statue and stowed it in her pack. As she turned to go, she let escape a little grin._

_"Very well done," said Nick, her contact, a short while later. He nodded as he examined the statue, and Parker tapped her foot as she waited. A portly man, he sported ostentatious chains of gold around his neck, and Parker was hard-pressed to keep her eyes away from the temptation they presented. He'd been the one she'd gone to first with the news that she was available for hire, and no longer running with Nathan Ford's crew. Nick had worked as a reliable middleman for years, and she knew he would pass the word along._

_"Nick? My money?" she said._

_He looked up and proceeded to tuck the statue into a padded box._

_"Of course," he said. He made a call to his client to confirm the acquisition, and listened for a moment to whatever instructions were being given. Nick nodded to her before he had ended the call. "It's being wired now."_

_Parker checked her phone and saw the transfer had indeed taken place. With a silent nod, she turned to go._

_"Wait," Nick said. She turned back to look at him. He paused a moment and drummed his fingers on the metal table. It echoed strangely in the empty warehouse. Then he took out a briefcase, opened it, and turned it to show her the bundles of money inside. Parker's lips quirked upwards and when she looked up at him, her eyes crinkled at the corners._

_"My client," Nick continued, "failed to purchase an item he wanted before it was sold to someone else, so I would like to offer you another job. Are you interested?"_

  


She should have said no, Parker thought, for the hundredth time today. Higgins had not been pleased when she'd called again to report that she'd failed to retrieve his wife's gift. Parker's assurance that she would take it, this weekend, from its new place in some old lady's collection had failed to appease him since it would be too late for a birthday gift. 

That had been this morning. Since then, Parker's mind unhelpfully provided a continuous loop of every snippet of half-heard conversation about Higgins. They universally portrayed a person who habitually made examples of anyone who dared cross him. 

By afternoon, Parker's suspicion that she was being followed sent her to her backup apartment, and then to a motel that she picked at random from a phone directory. She refused to put Eliot at risk by meeting him that night, and the familiar pang she felt at the thought of her old teammates put her in a foul mood. The Eliot she knew eight months ago would have been an impenetrable wall between her and danger. Leverage had easily been the best few years of her life, but having friends meant that it hurt when they left, and clawing her way back to her former self had proved to be harder than she'd imagined. In her less forgiving moments, she blamed Nate—no, she blamed Hardison!—for taking that away. But she always defaulted back to blaming herself. The nice little illusion of family had been just that, she thought. 

When Parker looked out the motel window to see if her pizza delivery had arrived, her eyes lingered on a high-end dark sedan that seemed out of place in this neighbourhood.She stepped away from the window and looked around the apartment. The new aliases, which she had grabbed from her emergency storage locker at the bus station, were clean and should have been untraceable. There wasn't much to search through since she only had two bags with her: the pre-packed emergency bag that she'd also retrieved from the station, and the small backpack into which she'd put Nick's advance payment from this job. 

With hardening suspicion, she upended the bag and let the bundles of money fall onto the shabby motel bedspread. It took twenty-three seconds to find the miniscule tracking device fixed to one of the bill straps. Leaving her burner aliases, all laid out in their precise groupings on the table, and abandoning the scattered currency that littered the bed, Parker hurried to the door. Her hand had barely touched the doorknob when the door burst open. The end of the door struck her shoulder and knocked her to the ground. A large body pinned her down before she could scramble away. Someone yanked her arm until it was fully extended and then knelt to keep it there. 

"No!" she yelled when she felt the prick of a needle, but her objections went unheeded and soon the room faded away. 

***

Parker noticed the throbbing first. Her head pounded, and every small twitch of her eyelids made it worse. Noise assailed her ears in a crashing thunder and while the pattern almost sounded like speech, none of it made any sense. Shafts of blinding light stabbed her eyes and she clenched her eyes shut as she screamed. The scream came out muffled, and only then did she notice the gag. She was shaken and lifted upright and the noise increased in volume. A slap to her face nearly sent her back into unconsciousness, and when a blunt calloused finger lifted an eyelid, the pain of so much brightness made her wish for it. With her mind swimming in sensations, at first she didn't realize that she was being left alone again. 

The noise of voices faded until she could only hear the pounding rush of her heartbeat. She opened her eyes, slowly, painfully slowly, to let them get accustomed to the light. Her vision was unreliable: the walls moved and the floor tilted away from her. She flattened herself to the floor, pressing her chest as close to the cold cement as she could, and her fingers clawed for purchase. She closed them again. Drugged. They had drugged her. None of the warbled voices had sounded familiar, but that meant nothing. She knew who had taken her. Fuck. 

***

Parker didn't meet him at the bar. Eliot scowled again. At this rate it would become a permanent fixture. 

Eliot sat alone in a booth and waved at the waitress for another beer. Maybe Parker hadn't heard him. Maybe she'd been delayed and would show up another night as if nothing had happened. Maybe . . . Eliot began another sweep of the bar patrons. He had already studied them, but he did it again from force of habit. Nothing. No one gave him any unsettling feelings, except the leggy blond in the corner that he had mistaken for Parker when she came in. 

He grabbed his phone, almost as soon as it rang. 

"Parker?" 

"No, Mr. Spencer. It's—" 

"Mrs. Gerold. Of course. Is everything okay, ma'am?" The woman laughed, and Eliot could picture the girlish grin on her wrinkled face. 

"It's lovely! I wanted to check that you received the payment." 

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Saw that just this morning." 

"No, no, thank you! It was worth every penny. I heard that Higgins sent someone to take it." She laughed again as if it was the most amusing thing she'd heard all week. "Guess that's one thief I won't have to worry about." 

Eliot froze, and felt the blood leave his face. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Oh, it's nothing. He doesn't handle rejection well. You must have heard. Tends towards tantrums, like a spoiled child." She laughed again. "Anyway, if you are ever in the neighborhood, I'd love for—" 

"Excuse me, ma'am, but where does Higgins live? I think he might have something of mine." 

***

Eliot's fist left a smear of blood on his assailant's face. The man dropped to become the fifth body collapsed by the basement landing. Eliot examined his hand and, sure enough, he now sported a gash running across his knuckles. It must have been from the second guy's sunglasses. Eliot frowned down at the unconscious man, and looked around the dark room. He followed a short hallway to a locked door. One of the men probably had the key, but that would take more time. With a strong forward thrust, Eliot kicked in the door. 

The door crashed open to bang against the wall behind it then slowly began to close again. Eliot pushed it aside and strode into the room. It stank. An empty ice cream container had been placed in the corner, likely intended as a chamber pot, but the room's resident had obviously not been able to use it. Matted blond hair stuck to the woman's wan face, either from sweat, or blood, or vomit. Or all three. Her eyes widened and, though she turned her head towards the sound of Eliot entering, he could tell that she was unable to focus on him. She shrank back. He took another step towards her. 

"Parker?" 

***

"Parker, I'm getting you out. You're going to be fine." 

Parker knew she should recognize the stranger, but she didn't. The memories were there but they floated away when she tried to catch them. The male's voice was gruff but the hands that touched her didn't hurt. It was all too much, and Parker turned her head away. The man ignored her sodden clothes and helped her up. He supported her weight after she fumbled her right foot down and cried in pain. 

"God, what did they do to you? Parker? Parker?" 

The words almost made sense. It was so close that she sobbed in frustration when she couldn't make them come together properly. Drugs still swam about her system and she knew more would come when those metabolized. Questions followed the drugs, and pain accompanied the questions. Who did she work for? Were her parents still alive? Did she always work alone? Where could they find the other members of her crew? 

Anything touching Leverage, she held onto, she thought. And, in a disjointed way, it came to her that her refusal to answer certain questions might be why they continued asking: fishing for the right angle to break her; having fun. They certainly had given no indication that they cared about any of her answers. 

"You hurt anywhere else? Parker? What did they give you? Thiopental and what else?" 

He lay her down again, and ran his fingers over her body, as he watched her face for traces of pain. The air that shifted in the wake of his efficient movements cooled the drool wetting her chin. 

"No blood," he said. "No breaks." Parker didn't think he expected a reply to his muttering. 

It was the smell that triggered the memories and called up his face from the chaos. With both her hearing and sight compromised by the drugs, the whiff of aftershave, deodorant and sweat brought her flashes of planning over barroom tables, of long hours spent close together during surveillance, of having someone watching her back as she worked. She recognised Eliot, and the scent brought with it the amazing feeling of _safe_ , even here. 

"Badly bruised ribs," Parker attempted to tell him. But it came out, "Gaaangh." He found them anyway, and winced in sympathy as he lowered her filthy shirt. 

"Easy, easy, let me." Eliot draped one of her heavy arms across his shoulders and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. He carried her at a slow run, mindful of the purpling bruises, but the jarring pace still made her cry out. She closed her eyes again as the walls passed by, wavy and warped. She buried her head into Eliot's neck and concentrated on the smell of sweat underlying the sharp coppery smell of blood. His blood or others, she couldn't tell. Everything moved by too quickly, before she could focus on it. She pressed her head in further, until he turned his head a small fraction to whisper in her ear. 

"I've got you. But I'm going to need my arms back for a bit. Just going to put you down. Not for long. . . Parker, let go." 

He pried her hands away from their desperate grip and leaned her up against the wall. She heard more noises and thuds, and the cracks of gunfire echoed in the small space. She clutched her hands to her ears and dropped to huddle against the wall. A chip of brick hit her cheek and she whimpered. Then she was lifted again. 

The blinding light was a welcome change from the resonating noise of guns. The smell of wildflowers, and feel of the warm breeze nearly overloaded her senses. After a ways further, she was lifted into a new-smelling truck, and she fell asleep to the rumble of the engine. 

***

When water flooded her mouth, Parker sputtered, coughed, and bolted upright. The lack of resistance made her freeze and she blinked away memories of her recent captivity to take in the soft morning light streaming in from a bedroom window. Eliot's concerned face looked at her from a nearby chair. She blinked repeatedly and tried to piece together what had happened. Eliot held a mostly empty glass of water, and as she looked at him, she saw drips of water collect, merge, and run down his cheek. She coughed again and brought her hand to her mouth. He raised his eyebrows at her and without a word wiped his face. 

"Sorry," Parker croaked. Eliot looked at her as if she had said something particularly stupid, and offered her the water again. She accepted and then lay down on the bed. 

With a quick glance upwards for her permission, he gently lifted up her shit to look at her bruised ribs. A smell of medicine caught her attention, and she wondered what Eliot had applied. No sooner had she thought it than he turned to the bedside table to grab a small glass pot. 

"Salve. Special recipe. Learned it in Indonesia," he said as she felt the squish of another generous glop of the stuff spread over the area. 

"Eliot," Parker said, and Eliot looked up, "thank y—" 

"Don't," Eliot said, and he tugged down her shirt again. He refused to look at her, but she stared at him until he sighed and looked up. "This," he said with a wave at her ribs and at the racoon-like bruising around her eyes, "is my fault." 

Parker squinted at him; that didn't sound right. "Eli—" Parker shook her head to refute the statement, but the movement sent sharp little spikes of pain into her skull and she moaned. 

"Sorry. Later," Eliot said. "Hungry?" Before Parker had opened her mouth to reply, he was off into the kitchen. When he returned, it was with a plate of eggs and toast, accompanied by a tall glass of orange juice (not the normal stuff from a bottle, but fresh). She offered him a smile but it wasn't returned. His eyes appraised her as he set the tray down. 

"You need to eat," he said, and he sat down to make sure she did. Parker would have preferred Hardison's endless prattle to Eliot's stoic silence; it would have been easier to read. 

She made an effort, despite her stomach's threats, but the plate was still mostly full when the fork sagged in her hand, half-way to her mouth, and her eyelids drooped. 

"Sleep." The weight of the tray lifted, and a blanket tucked itself to cover her shoulders. 

Parker was too exhausted to argue, and she let herself sink into the bed. 

***

"It's tiny. Like a baby TV!" Parker patted the tiny, fat television as she made her way past, and she wondered how old the thing was. Had he seen it, Hardison would be doubled over, laughing. 

Eliot had looked up from watching the football game when Parker entered the room. She walked slowly, deliberately, but she did it on her own. The walking pulled at her ribs, which meant she held herself more stiffly which made the ribs worse . . . She swayed on her feet before she steadied herself on the counter and pulled out a stool. She chanced a glance at Eliot, embarrassed at her weakness, and caught him frozen half-out of his chair, as if his first reaction had been to rush forward but he'd held himself back. She appreciated the restraint and took pains to make herself relax. 

She could feel his eyes tracing each of her movements. When his game went to commercial, he got up and wandered over to grab another beer. He paused as he walked by her and she knew this was the real reason he'd come over. 

"You okay?' Eliot's words were a low rumble, soft and deep. 

"Yeah." She bit the sides of her cheek as she waited for the inevitable question. But Eliot simply nodded and continued into the kitchen. 

"Did they follow?" Parker asked, though she knew it was unnecessary. 

"They tried," Eliot replied, speaking into the fridge as he rummaged through it. Then he turned his head towards her and said nothing. 

"I don't want to talk about it," Parker said. He nodded, walked back to his chair, and sat down. 

The drugs seemed to have worked themselves out of her system but she still felt somewhat disconnected. The weird decor didn't help. The wall's blue floral pattern clashed with the gold-tasseled red armchairs. Parker thought the chairs would have suited an 80-yr-old woman—one who kept a handful of cats. Eliot seemed starkly out of place in his own apartment. She flicked the tassel of the chair nearest to her stool and raised an eyebrow at him. She kept her smile hidden as he squirmed. 

"It came furnished." Eliot set his beer on the living room table. She thought he might have flushed, but she couldn't tell in the room's light. She snickered, and he shrugged. "I'm not here all that much anyway." 

"Mmmhmm,' she said. 

***

A rap at the door made Parker sit up and she winced. Eliot walked casually over to the door and looked into the peephole. Parker's heart raced and she opened her mouth to tell Eliot not to answer, but before she could, he had opened the door. A bumpy ride in a van, bound, gagged, and drugged: half-remembered memories assailed her, and she could no longer see Eliot through the wavy walls. She scrambled backward on the bed until her back hit the headboard and she could go no further. 

"Parker!" Eliot said. Parker blinked up at him, until she had returned to the present. Eliot had set the pizza down on the counter and was sitting beside her. Parker blinked again. She had missed more time than she thought. 

"It's okay," Eliot said. "Give it some time." She shook her head. Eliot had plied her with amazing gourmet meals, so when Eliot had asked her what she wanted for supper tonight, she thought he deserved a break and she hadn't hesitated to request pizza. She obviously should have, she thought. 

"Food," she managed to say, with a wave in the direction of the door. "I'd ordered pizza when Higgins' people came." Eliot studied her for a moment, and he nodded. He checked the peephole again before he thoroughly checked the hallway, and he returned to scrutinize the street below them. 

"Looks okay," he said, and his voice held no censure or mockery. Parker relaxed back into the bed, and as the adrenaline wore off, she felt too tired, even for pizza. She was asleep before Eliot placed her piece on the table. 

***

Parker leaned against the back of the armchair, keeping most of her weight off her ankle, and flaked out a rope, checking the wear before she coiled it in looping figure-eights. As expected, all of Eliot's equipment was in excellent maintenance, but she was bored, and it couldn't hurt to recheck. Eliot hadn't voiced any objections. She tied off the coil and picked up a harness next, to start her inspection at the belay hitch. 

No one had spoken in the last few minutes. Eliot's silence made her shoulders itch, and she searched for a way to derail his newest question. She wasn't ready to talk about it. And that, she thought, had been part of the problem. 

"I miss all the sex," she said. The cut-off grunt and the ringing of a fumbled blade falling against a granite table top showed Parker that her comment had been heard, even if there was no immediate reply. After a moment, Eliot spoke. 

"I don't need to know that!" 

Eliot sounded horrified, Parker thought. She smiled. She'd be willing to wager that he wouldn't venture any more questions about her breakup with Alec. 

"I mean, Alec was amaz—" 

"Parker!" 

"He'd put his—" Parker couldn't continue because of the strong warm hand covering her mouth. Her eyes danced as her tongue came out and swiped Eliot's palm that covered her mouth. 

"Ugh!" he said, but she could hear the smile in his voice, underneath the gruffness. Parker's laugh turned to a screech as Eliot retaliated. She had missed this closeness in the time they had been apart. 

***

The familiar melody of the tenor sax in the Pink Panther theme song made Eliot pause. There was Parker, sitting in one of his gaudy armchairs, with colour in her cheeks again—and not the blues browns and yellows, but something healthy. And she was smiling, laughing even. Eliot leaned against the door frame and watched her, but with Parker's gaze firmly fixed on Eliot's small television, she never noticed. 

When she finally looked up and saw him it was with her cheeks full of Fruit Loops. A dribble of milk made its way down her chin because she was unable to chew properly without pain from the cut on her lip. He wondered why she didn't just take smaller bites, but it wasn't anything he needed to know. 

"You're looking better," Eliot said. 

Parker's eyes still danced and she waved to the television set for Eliot to take a look as she continued chewing. Eliot perched on the second armchair, and turned away from watching her to take a look at the show. 

"Nk nher," she mumbled, then swallowed and repeated, "Pink Panther. He's an amazing thief." They were silent for a moment as they watched the opening title. Eliot remained silent until the pink cartooned character fall through a hole in the floor that later proved to be a design painted on a carpet. 

"So what have you been up to?" Eliot carefully maintained his attention on the little set as he spoke, pretending to watch the Pink Panther chase an amorous white rabbit. 

"You know what I've been up to." She looked over at Eliot then back to the television. But she no longer watched the cartoon chase scene. 

"Higgins?" 

"Higgins was a mistake." She glanced over at him. "He took it bad that I didn't get the package." 

Eliot closed his eyes. "Parker, I'm sorr—" 

"They were supposed to make an example—it was supposed to be slow. Thanks for getting me out." 

Eliot took a breath to say something more. 

"No sorrys," she said. "I had no right to ask that. And I didn't exactly try very hard. Didn't give my A game when I found out you were the courier. I should have. I'm a professional." Parker looked off to the side of the room and scowled. 

The silence took over again. Eliot caught himself tapping his finger against his leg, an unconscious habit he thought he'd long since stopped. 

"Parker, what happened?" 

She frowned. "I told you—" 

"No. With us. With Hardison. You . . ." He pressed his lips together while he took a calming breath so he could speak without his anger bleeding through. "Neither of you said why. I asked, and Hardison refused to give me much of anything. Just said that it wouldn't work, that he couldn't do it anymore. Made up some transparent lie. He was . . . I don't know, different. And you . . . you left. Not a word. Months." Parker closed her eyes and Eliot clamped down his anger again before continuing. "I think I deserve a reason. No lies." 

Parker nodded but then simply stared at the television. The white rabbit now chased the Pink Panther. 

"Parker?" 

Parker finally looked into Eliot's eyes. He'd clenched his jaw and hoped that she wouldn't notice the hurt he tried to hide beneath the anger. And he tried to mask the anger too. From her expression, he suspected she saw more than he wanted her to. 

"Don't lie. Yeah, right," Parker's said, and she threw the words like daggers. Eliot wasn't the only one with hidden anger. "So long as I don't tell the truth either." 

"Wha—" 

"You want the lie. Men do. You say all this stuff about truth but you don't . . ." Parker gulped the sob that threatened. She turned away towards the television again, but it had gone to commercial. "I thought . . . never mind. It was . . ." She sighed, pulled her legs up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. "Ever had too much of a good thing?" Eliot raised a single brow and she continued. "He said he loved me." Parker's words were soft, even for a whisper, but Eliot didn't ask her to repeat them. "I couldn't say it back." 

***

_(Eight months ago)_

_Parker lay nestled on the sofa, safe in Alec's arms. He gently turned her face to his, and she smiled to see the happy crinkle in his eye. He seemed strangely intense as he looked at her._

_"I love you," he said, and the strength of his gaze, combined with the statement, floored her. He gave her a small smile and she rushed up to kiss him until they were breathless. Then she settled back into his arms._

_"Y'know," he said after a moment. "I don't think anything could possibly be better than kissing you. It is customary, though, to, um, say it back, when someone says they love you."_

_Parker frowned. Alec was her first real relationship, so she couldn't very well compare it to anything else. How should she . . .? She needed Sophie; this was too important for her to fuck up. She bolted off the couch for the bedroom, shut the door on Alec's slow "Oookay" and she hated how uncertain he sounded. Sophie's cell went to voicemail. Each time. Fuck._

_Taking a breath, she opened the door. Alec was no longer on the couch. He sat, straight-backed and face shuttered, playing a first person shooter. He usually hated those. Parker bit her lip. This wasn't good._

_"Alec . . ."_

_"No," he said. "I get it." On screen, someone's head exploded into bits and sprayed blood everywhere._

_"You get what?" Hell, she didn't even get it._

_"You don't feel the same way," he said._

_"I. . . I . . .don't know." His character died on screen and she rushed to try to explain. "I like what we have. This. You and me. I don't know about love. But this . . . I like this."_

_"You like this." The flat tone of his voice made her chest muscles tighten. "I love you! I want to spend my life with you. I want us to get married, maybe kids . . . someday. I need more than you 'like' me."_

_Marriage? Children?_

_"I don't have more," Parker said, and she was surprised to hear her voice sound so child-like. "I don't want kids. I . . ." She took a fortifying breath against the hurt in Alec's eyes. "I've never wanted to get married." At this point she would do anything to take the stunned look away. "I like you sooo much. I like it this, here," she waved her hand to encompass the room, "with you. And, and . . . maybe I love you. But I don't know." They stared at each other a long time._

_Leverage Inc closed the following week, and a realtor sign went up on the Brewery Pub._

  


Parker couldn't get enough air as the memory fixed a vice around her chest. She closed her eyes and clamped down on her emotions. She hadn't been this off-balance since the breakup. Seeing Eliot again, remembering the camaraderie they had shared, thinking on the best years of her life, was bringing it all to the front. She became aware of a soft, calm voice whispering in her ear, but it was several minutes before she could tune into what Eliot was saying. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Breathe through it." He continued in that genre as he rubbed slow circles down her arms and over her trembling shoulders, as he pressed close, grounding her in the present. The grip of the past faded, leaving her exhausted. 

"I should have lied," she said. Eliot said nothing, and just held her. 

***

Parker's ankle had recuperated enough for her to put some pressure on it, and Eliot had left his apartment on a grocery run. It also gave him time to take a look around the neighbourhood for anything that might be off. That someone had managed to track Parker, whose paranoia seemed to have resurfaced since they had split up, was alarming. Paranoia was the wrong word, Eliot mused. He shook his head at the juvenile old joke. Someone really was out to get her. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Eliot made his way back. He was surprised to see Parker poring over online maps. 

"Didn't see any of Higgins' men," Eliot said. He set the bag of groceries on the counter and approached the table. "What are you doing?" 

Parker glared at the maps and said nothing. He saw her switch to a satellite view of Reginald Higgins' home, where he had rescued her from. 

"Let it go," Eliot said in a low voice. 

"And if he doesn't?" Parkers asked. "He was angry. He's not going to let it go. Even if I get him the stupid bunny. He'll come after me again. I can't do my job and worry he's at my back." 

"You're planning what? To kill him?" Eliot's words came out light, but when Parker refused to comment, hiss whole body tensed. "You're going to kill him." His uninflected voice revealed nothing of his thoughts. "You're a thief, not a hitter." 

She stopped chewing her lip, and her confusion and uncertainty came out as anger. "You don't know that. Maybe I have killed someone before. I've made some things explode over the years, and I didn't exactly go check afterwards. Maybe someone got hurt. You have a problem with that?" 

"Yeah. Hell yeah, I have a problem if you're planning a hit." 

Parker opened her mouth to respond then snapped it shut, spun around and walked out the door. 

"Parker!" 

"Leave me alone, Eliot. You and Hardison. Maybe I can't live up to your standards." 

"That's not—stop! Just . . . it changes you." 

"No. It changed _you_ ," Parker yelled, and the slam of the stairway door punctuated the statement. In the couple steps it took Eliot to get to the door, there was no trace of her. 

"Dammit, Parker!" 

***

"Hardison?" 

"Hey, Eliot! How you doing, man?" 

"Fine. I need a favour." 

Eliot pulled the phone away from his ear as Hardison laughed. 

"I'm great, thanks for asking," Hardison said, and Eliot could almost see his friend and former associate shake his head as he spoke. "Got a little gig going on the side. Keeping my toes in the game, you know. Naw, nice of you to offer your help, but I got it . . ." 

When his growl into the phone didn't stop Hardison's nonstop flow of words, Eliot figured it had been too long since they had met up. Eliot's threats always worked better when he was a looming presence. 

". . .phie and Nate. And I—" 

"What about them?" 

"Now see, if you bothered listening the first time I—" 

"What about them?" 

"What? Oh, nothing, they're good. Sightseeing around Italy, they said. They wanted some quick university professor aliases, so I'm not sure what kind of sightseeing they're doing, if you know what I mean. Sophie said—" 

"Later. I need to know the current location of Reginald Higgins." 

"Uh huh. You know, my Nana always said that a 'please' would get you further—" 

"Dammit Hardison!" Eliot said through clenched teeth. As he searched through a drawer of once-organized file folders, he heard Hardison's annoyed sigh through the phone and could make out a tapping of keys. 

"Okay. His main residence is 4286 Welli—" 

"I'm there already. He's not. I need to know his actual location." 

"And how do you want me to do that? You have a tracer on him or something?" 

"No. Just do it." 

"I can't just wave a magic wand! I have to—" 

Eliot disconnected the call. Fuck. 

After fifteen minutes of rifling through Higgins' home office, with a brief pause to put down one of the waking guards, Eliot had found no leads. Parker and Higgins weren't here. But a man like Higgins had to have another house or two. The guards he had questioned earlier, before his call to his former associate, had known nothing. 

He paused with papers held in mid-air when his phone rang. 

"What?" he said. 

"Awesome phone manners," Hardison said, but he continued before Eliot could disconnect. "I've got him." 

"Higgins?" 

"Oh yeah. Turns out he recently bought some kind of estate by a lake, just off the highway in . . . I'm sending you the map. I sort of borrowed one of Uncle Sam's surveillance satellites—oh man, the resolution on those things! Higgins is definitely there. He and a lady-friend are busy doing the nasty on his dock. And I really didn't need to see that; you owe me." 

"Yeah, I do." 

"Eliot?" All the teasing had disappeared from Hardison's voice. "Does . . . is . . . does this have to do with the rumour through the grapevine that Parker pissed him off?" 

Eliot said nothing. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head as he answered. "Yeah." 

"Promise me she's going to be okay." 

Eliot pretended he didn't hear the small hitch in Hardison's voice. "I promise," he whispered. "Listen . . . you and Parker . . . it's really over?" 

"Yeah. Yes. I . . . Yes, it's over. Why?" Hardison said, and Eliot could hear the forced joviality. "You wanna ask her out?" 

Eliot wanted to reply in kind, to pass it off as friendly banter, but the words stuck in his throat. 

"I gotta go," he said, and he gave himself a mental kick for being such a coward. "Got a promise to keep." His hand trembled as he put down the phone to open Hardison's attachment.

***

Parker peered through the latticework that covered the crawlspace below the large elevated deck. Higgins lay in a hammock, a short distance away, with his arms wrapped around his naked wife. The warm breeze coming off the lake rocked them gently in the aftermath of their exertions. The end of his thin ponytail hung off the hammock, and an excess of gel kept the tightly pulled dark hair in place. Neither of them seemed likely to move any time soon. That anyone could care about such a monster did nothing to deter her plan, Parker told herself. 

Parker hadn't intended to be a voyeur when she'd slipped from the moving truck to hide under the deck. Only later did she realize what she had stumbled in on. Parker could feel herself blush.

Higgins hadn't been at his main residence when Parker showed up, but the movers had been. She'd slipped into the truck after they had loaded the last of Higgins' fancy furniture from the three-car garage, and Parker spent the next two hours napping on a designer Italian leather sofa. The truck had efficiently gotten her past the lake estate's security gates, and she'd burrowed to the back and hidden behind a mattress when they began to unload. Once the movers were busy with a heavy desk, she'd darted from the van to side of the mansion (which had obviously been painstakingly designed to mimic a rustic log cabin—just several magnitudes larger). 

A flash of movement, sent her under the porch, from which she had an excellent view of Higgins' bare ass. The crawlspace's entrance was little more than a piece of hinged trellis, held by a tiny padlock. The padlock probably was meant as a deterrent for animals since it did nothing to deter people. It had taken Parker seconds to pry off the padlock where it attached to the footings. Parker imagined they probably used the area for storage. She currently lay on a mouldering canvas tarp that had likely been tossed beneath the porch years ago and been forgotten. 

The movers had finished bringing in the last of the master bedroom furniture and she could hear their indistinct talk as they stowed away their furniture blankets and dollies. 

Parker bit her lip and went over the options for taking down Higgins. Now would be ideal: he was asleep and unguarded, his handful of heavily armed men (two at the gates, one personal assistant, and three others) were otherwise occupied, and the kitchen staff were busy with supper preparations. It was the ideal situation for a thief, except as a thief she would do the opposite of what she currently planned. She would leave the mark alive and sneak off in the opposite direction. The killing part, she mused, might be easier if he was awake and threatening to kill her. She reminded herself that he had given the order to torture her, and that he was trying to have her killed, which was pretty much the same thing. Parker pinched her lips together when the woman in his arms moved and Higgins turned his face into her hair and snuggled her tighter. The bastard wasn't making this any easier. 

In the midst of her effort to psych herself up for her task, she didn't notice someone sneaking up beside her. The hand that pressed tightly to her mouth trapped her scream. 

"Shhh! It's me." With his hand still clamped to her mouth, Eliot allowed her to turn her head to look at him. Once he saw the fear leave her eyes, to be replaced by irritation, he released her. 

"What are you doing here?" Since Parker spoke with clenched teeth, it came out as more of a hiss than a whisper. 

"Stopping you from making a mistake." The strength of his glare forced Parker to glance away, and she shifted uncomfortably. 

"But he tried to—" 

"I know." 

"You said. You said that you and I can do things that the others couldn't. This is one of them." She sighed in frustration at having to explain herself. "I'm solo again—" 

". . . don't have to be solo." Eliot's voice was so soft that Parker was able to pretend she hadn't heard. 

"—so no, I can't leave it." She shook her head. "He won't stop." She glared at the sleeping man. 

Eliot took a breath. "All right," he said. Concerned, Parker looked at him from the corner of her eye; he sounded resigned. "But I'll do it." 

"What!" She twisted her body to face him fully. "No! It's my—" 

"Parker," Eliot said, calm and reasonable — emotionless. "If I needed something stolen, I would ask you. You're the best." He locked his eyes to hers. "This is what I do. It's what I'm best at." 

The bang of the porch door above them made both of them freeze. 

"Reg! Phone." 

"Mmhmph. Who?" Higgins' voice was gruff from sleep, and he didn't bother opening his eyes. 

"The guy in Venice." 

"Ah . . . hell. Fine. Excuse me, love." It took Higgins a few moments to extract his limbs from his partner's, and he stumbled a bit on a garden stone. "Wait out here," Higgins told the man as he went inside. 

Parker ducked her head away as a shower of dust fell when the man crossed the deck, walked down the steps and wandered over to the hammock. Parker blinked her eyes to dislodge the small bit of dust that had gotten in. Tears stramed down her cheek when her vision finally cleared. She started when she felt Eliot's hand brush the side of her face. He wiped her cheek with his thumb, and she could felt it as a flutter in her stomach. She shivered and gave him a wan smile. He withdrew his hand, and turned to look toward the hammock. To look at the naked woman. Parker's eyebrows drew together. 

"Can I get you anything ma'am?" the bodyguard asked. Parker could see the telltale wrinkle in the drape of his jacket; he was armed. 

The naked woman smiled and stretched, reaching up first with one arm then twisting her body to stretch her other side. Her smile widened when the bodyguard turned away. "I'm fine. Thank you." The man tripped as he backed away and settled on a deck chair to wait. 

***

Higgins' phone call was taking much too long, Parker thought. She and Eliot lay side by side, silent, unmoving, with the bodyguard stationed above them, slightly to their right. She could see one small sections of the man's face at a time through the thin gaps in the wooden boards. The sun had shifted and now sent small lines of light through the boards onto their faces. All he had to do was look down . . . Parker let out a quiet breath of relief when he took out his phone and began playing a game. 

With the threat of imminent discovery temporarily commuted, Parker began thinking through her contingency plans. Most of them had to be discarded as she tried to readjust them for the both the presence of a second person and for the continued existence of Reginald Higgins. Higgins' death would have distracted the guards, but no matter what Eliot thought, she wouldn't let him do that for her. She couldn't let Eliot destroy himself. She rolled towards him, inch by inch, always keeping watch on the guard above them, until they were chest to chest. At this angle Eliot took up most of her field of vision. She leaned her mouth towards his ear, and he turned his head to provide a better angle. 

"It's who you were," she said, and rested her cheek against his. "That's not you now. The Eliot that I know—the Eliot who’s important to me—he doesn’t do that anymore. And I won't let him do it again because of me." 

Eliot turned his head to look at her, and she felt the irrational urge to hide from his gaze. They were close enough that their noses almost touched and Parker's focus was drawn to his lips, and to the breaths that had ever so slightly increased in frequency. 

Parker jumped when the door opened above them, and her face banged into Eliot's. She brought a hand to her nose, and through the tears that welled up, she saw him wince. Parker shook her head. _This is ridiculous_ , she thought. A small snicker escaped her before she ruthlessly clamped down on it. She turned away from Eliot to avoid bursting into laughter as she remembered the look on his face. So not appropriate right now. 

"Call the boys here," Higgins said, and Parker let slip a smirk of satisfaction at whatever had irritated the man. "Problems in Venice. It's being taken care of, but we need to send the shipment to Genoa instead." The bodyguard furrowed his brow and opened his mouth but his boss cut him off. "Don't ask. It's a mess, a goddamned fucked-up mess. Sorry darlin'," Higgins called out, "but I have business to take care of today. Why don't you go for a soak in the jacuzzi while I sort it out. I'll join you later." 

Higgins' wife sauntered up the couple steps carrying her sunrobe over her arm. She brushed past the men standing in front of the door. Parker looked to Eliot, to see what he made of Higgins' words, but the hitter's eyes were glues to the naked woman's departing form, and he sported a little half-smile. Parker squelched the unjustified flash of jealousy. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to sort out her feelings. Eliot was a single guy; so what if he looked. 

"We should go, now," she said, containing her growl. Higgins had walked back into the house, talking to his wife about rerouting shipments. Eliot gave Parker a curt nod and moved towards the entrance. 

The thin shafts of sunlight that came through the boards lit up Eliot's camouflaged back as he moved, and Higgins' man, who had looked down when his boss' wife had walked naked into the house, happened to catch the slight movement of color, even if he couldn't make out what it was. 

"Reg! Fuck! Something is down there!" the man's yell attracted the attention of the two men at the gate who came hurrying. Parker heard the snick of a gun leavie its holster, and she could make out the sounds of booted feet running inside. 

She looked to Eliot who didn't look happy with the situation. He shook his head. 

"Distance," he said. "Too many guns. No cover. They need to be closer." Parker reached over and snagged a corner of the mouldy canvas to pull over them, before anyone was is a good enough position to see them clearly. Eliot stuck a hand out to toss some stray dried leaves over it, as he burrowed in beside her. Neither moved. 

The shouts of several guards could be heard, but Higgins' voice overrode them. 

"Don't shoot up my house!" The sound of his voice approached, grew more distant, and approached again, as Higgins walked past them, down the step and around to peer below deck. The angle of the sun would make him squint, Parker knew, and in the shadow she and Eliot might be missed. 

"It's gotta be that fuckin' racoon again," Higgins told one of the guards. "Damn thing was under there a couple nights ago. Take care of it, will you. I have other crap to deal with." 

Parker 's back was tight against Eliot's chest and his arm encircled her, so she felt the slight shift of his wrist as he loosened a knife from the hidden sheath. Parker had done the same. 

"Don't see anything," someone shouted. The voice was too nasally for the bodyguard, and Parker wondered how many people this little scene had attracted. 

"What's the blob? It's . . . canvas. Some old tarp or something." 

"Maybe it's hiding under it. What's he storing here anyway?" 

"Nah, probably left over from the original owner. You should have seen the junk we threw away when he first bought the place last month. 

"You two," Higgins said, "take the shipment to the plane. The rest of you, get the animal out of here." Higgins walked with the men he had singled out, and began giving them the rundown of the changed schedule. Their voiced fades away. 

"So who gets to flush it out?" 

"Here, try this first." A rustling in the decorative shrubs was heard shortly before Parker felt the jab of a thin blunt object. Something poked at the corner of the tarp. They were too far underneath the large deck to someone to reach with their arm, and there'd been no sound of anyone crawling underneath. Tree branch, she suspected, but she didn't venture to look out. 

"See anything?" 

"No. Do it again." 

Parker felt Eliot's breath near her ear. 

"We're getting out of here," he whispered. "Now. I'll handle the distraction. You get to the van." 

"What van?" she asked. Eliot took her hand and brought it to his ear. She could feel the muscle of his jaw clench. She felt the warm outline of his ear and a familiar hard plastic earpiece. 

"Sorry," he said. Hardison's earpiece. In the darkness, Parker's eyes widened, and she felt the first signs of panic before it was engulfed in the hot stirrings of anger. He gave her a short nod. 

A branch was shoved into the tarp again, hitting Eliot's forehead. In a blink, he trapped the stick within the tarp and twisted it out of its owner's grasp. Eliot rolled out from under their inadequate shelter, and he continued until he had reached the lattice-covered side nearest to the one poking at him. Two shots rung out, but neither hit. In one swift move, Eliot tore through the thin wood decoration, trapped one of the man's legs, and brought a second man down with a kick to his knee. A third shot just missed as Eliot continued from his kneeling position into a forward roll. Now too close for effective use of his gun, the last man's hand-to-hand skills proved far outmatched by Eliot's. 

""Parker, go!" Eliot called out. One man remained, and another was picking himself up. "I'll follow." 

"Go where?" she muttered, but she also moved. Parker emerged and looked around. The moving truck she had arrived in had already left. Higgins' private car had been parked in the garage on the other side of the palatial cabin. She didn't see a van. As Parker took two running steps along the side of the cabin, towards the front, she was brought up short by the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle. A van appeared, drove without stopping through the now-open gates, and screeching to a halt a short distance away. She was not surprised to see a familiar dark form waving frantically and leaning to open the front passenger door. Hardison. 

Without hesitation, she jumped into the van. One of the injured men on the ground pointed his weapon. Parker ducked, and she heard the sound of two shots hitting the rear door. One window shattered. Looking through his rear-view mirror, Hardison swore, and the van's tires spun on the gravel driveway as they sped away. Parker looked back to see that Higgins and two others had arrived. As she watched, they leveled their guns at Eliot. 

"Alec! Go back!" 

Hardison set his lips in a grim line but he didn't stop. , In the passenger side mirror, Parker saw Eliot look up at her, though objectively she knew he was too far away to see. He gave them a quick jerk of his head. Hardison slammed his hand on the steering wheel but accelerated down the street, carrying Parker away but leaving Eliot behind. 

"No! What are you doing?" She swiveled around to look out the missing window. Before they turned a corner, she saw one man clip the back of Eliot's legs with a rifle butt, sending Eliot to the ground. 

She whirled on Hardison. "Go back." 

"No." He looked sick and his hands on the steering wheel shook. 

"We're not leaving him. Go back." 

Hardison shook his head. "That's not the plan," he said, and he refused to look at her. 

"What plan?" 

"The how-to-get-Parker-out plan!" Hardison's voice made a tinny echo in the small confines of the van. " _Eliot's_ plan." He pointed to his earpiece and Parker understood that he was still in contact with Eliot, and likely had graphic audio of whatever was happening. 

"Give me the ear bud." 

"No." 

"I need to talk to him." 

"Won't do you any good," Hardison said, and the softness in his voice alarmed her. What the hell was happening to Eliot? 

Parker clenched her teeth and her nostrils flared. "I didn't ask for your help!" 

"No, you didn't!" Hardison made it an accusation. "But Eliot did. Called me back. Said that he needed help with an exit strategy." 

"Then he should exit!" 

"You're right. But I promised him that I'd get you out first." Hardison still wouldn't look at her. "Parker this, Parker that, Parker . . . fuck." 

"You what? . . . Why?" 

A tic in Hardison's jaw jumped and he banged on the steering wheel again. "Guy stuff." 

" _Guy stuff_?" Parker's eyebrows had drawn together and her mouth was pinched. 

"We reached an understanding, on the way over, okay?" Hardison continued. 

"What? That I get out first? No. Not okay." Parker unlocked the door and opened it. She used her shoulder to push it open, fighting against the force of the wind from the van's movement. "It's my damn mess." 

"Parker!" Hardison pulled over and Parker jumped out. She heard the opening of the van door and the fast crunch of gravel behind her as Hardison jogged to catch up to the brisk pace she set. "What the hell, woman!" 

Parker said nothing. 

"He wants you safe. It's his job." 

"No, not anymore." Parker never slowed. 

"He'll kill me if you go back there." 

"Bonus." Ungrateful or not, at this point, Parker was angry enough at both of them that there was little Hardison could say that _wouldn't_ piss her off. 

"Aw, now I know you don't really mean that . . . Stop!" He grabbed her shoulder and using a move, taught to her ages ago by Eliot, she spun around into the pull and her fist connected with a crack to Hardison's jaw. She ignored the little tingle of satisfaction, and the large burst of pain in her hand, as Alec fell to the ground. Perhaps, she admitted, she might still be angry over the breakup. She immediately focused on how pissed off she was at their abandonment of a teammate, even if they were no longer a team. 

"He went back for me," she said, and took another step towards Higgins' cabin. 

"Of course he did," Hardison said, and his voice was muffled by the hand that rubbed his jaw. "Fuckin' idiot loves you. Fool." 

***

The punch to his gut drove out Eliot's breath, and he wheezed as he gulped in more air. Most of his weight was now supported by two of Higgins' interchangeable goons, since his leg no longer held him. This place didn't seem to have a basement like in Higgins' main residence, so he had been dragged into the guest room. 

"Who are you? . . . What do you want?" 

Eliot smiled and told the truth. 

"I came here to save your life, you arrogant piece of shit." That earned him another flurry of blows, after which his right eye no longer worked properly. 

Eliot looked up at Higgins and gave him a tired, bloody smile. It really was freeing to be able to tell the truth; he had rarely had that luxury during previous interrogations. 

"Why are you here?" 

Eliot maintained the smile (it seemed to creep out the goon by the door) and said nothing. Parker had gotten away with Hardison; he had seen them leave. Nothing else really mattered. They were safe, and Hardison had some high-tech ideas that he had shared on their drive here about how to deal with Higgins. Parker would be angry with him, he knew, for having lied, but promising to follow had seemed to be the easiest way to get her out. By breaking that one small promise, he had kept the one to Hardison. He had been able to keep everyone's attention on him and off Parker. Part of the job. 

"Sir?" Another of goons—now creepily faceless thanks to the inability of Eliot's eyes to focus properly—walked over to Higgins. "We got it. Camera three picked up someone coming from the moving van this afternoon." 

"Thought you checked the damned thing! Well? Go bring back the movers!" Higgins pointed emphatically towards the road while clenching his other hand. "Now." 

"Yessir." Eliot could hear a scramble of movement as three men ran off to their vehicle. He wondered how long it would take for them to find the disconnected starter wire. 

"So who are our mystery guests?" Higgins asked, and someone walked over and handed him a tablet. Higgins squinted at the display. He slowly shook his head in mock sympathy and looked over to Eliot with a shark's smile. "I'm going to fillet your little thief." 

Eliot renewed his struggles against the men that held him. He managed to pull the man on his right into a head butt, and he felt the satisfying crack of the man's broken nose — and maybe a cheekbone— before he was struck from behind. As he lay on the ground, a boot made contact with his ribs. 

"Don't kill him. He's going to watch. I'm going to start by removing her hands. That's the classic punishment for a thief, no?" Higgins' voice sounded far away, and, with the next blow, Eliot faded into unconsciousness. 

***

When he next roused, he noticed someone brushing the hair away from his face before he heard their words. 

"Eliot? Wake up. There's not much time." 

Eliot couldn't see details, but when the dark shape leaning over him moved, the low light caught on golden hair, and he knew. 

"Parker?" His words were slurred. It was difficult to move his swollen lips, and he could only open his eyes to slits. 

"Hi," she said, and Eliot could hear the fondness in her voice. 

"I thought you . . ." _got away_. Eliot didn't finish his sentence before Parker punched him on the shoulder and he groaned. 

"You," Parker slapped him again, "will never do that again. Idiot." 

"How did you . . ?" 

"Not now. Later. Come on." 

The memory of Higgins' threats to Parker crashed down on him. 

"You have to go!" Eliot struggled to a seated position, and leaned heavily on Parker to gain his feet. "Higgins . . ." The bright lights illuminated the guest room where Eliot had been chained, and they temporarily blinded him until his eyes adjusted. 

"Yes. Me," Higgins said from the doorway. Eliot could make out another human shape next to him, and from its stance he assumed it was armed. "Did you really think that a fake security breach would distract me?" Higgins continued, and he motioned the shadowy figure forward. The man hadn't taken more than two steps before Parker brought up her arm and aimed. There was a series of loud buzzing clicks from a TASER C2, and the advancing figure jerked in spasms and collapsed. Eliot turned his head and saw two thin wires trailing from Parker's preferred weapon. 

"You replaced the air cartridge." He omitted the _finally_ but thought Parker heard it anyway. She shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea. And the one you'd bought me was still sitting around in the van." He nodded and said nothing, but he almost smiled. 

Higgins had retreated behind a wall as soon as Parker had revealed a weapon, and Eliot heard the chambering of a Colt 45. 

"Where's Har—" 

"Second diversion." She looked at her watch. "Twenty seconds. We have to get to the side entrance." 

Eliot nodded but wished he hadn't when the motion sent little spikes of pain radiating from the earlier blow to his head. He moved the short distance to crouch next to the stunned man and Parker appeared at his side. Eliot slid the man's Glock 17(fourth generation) across the room, and the sound must have been the impetus Higgins needed. Higgins darted out from the shelter of the wall and fired four rounds in the direction Eliot had tossed the gun. Without allowing time for him to reassess the situation, Eliot surged up from his crouch, much closer than Higgins had expected, trapped the man's arm against the wall, and threw a bonus elbow to Higgins' face as he twisted the gun away, breaking the man's index finger in the process. 

Higgins cried out as he stumbled forward and cradled his hand against his chest. Eliot advanced a threatening step. 

"Eliot." Parker's voice made him hesitate. He looked up, and she motioned to the side with her head. "Alec parked at the side entrance." She said nothing further and simply waited. 

He took a steadying breath and willed himself back from the edge. Higgins would live, the bastard, to hurt people another day. Addled by a likely concussion, Eliot couldn't remember why that was supposed to be a good thing. Then Higgins' hand reached towards a second gun tucked into a concealed holster and Eliot moved. 

Eliot felt the crunch and pop of delicate cervical bones. As Higgins fell like a stringless marionette, Eliot's watch strap caught in the man's tight ponytail, and the body jerked in its descent before it finally settled in a heap. He looked up to see Parker motionless and staring at him with wide eyes. He met her stare. Parker shouldn't have had to see that, but Eliot wasn't sorry the man was dead: the guy had tried to kill her. He looked away, focussed on the door at the end of the hallway, and took stumbling steps towards it.

Whatever distraction Hardison had arranged had served its purpose and they encountered no resistance as they made their way to the van. He heard the blaring of alarms, and thought that he might have seen smoke, but the swelling of his eyes made everything somewhat hazy and clotted blood prevented him from smelling anything. 

He sagged with relief when Parker slammed closed the van's back door and scooted into the driver's seat. The van lurched forward, and then stopped abruptly as Parker slammed on the breaks. In a moment, Hardison had hopped in, and the sound of spinning tires on gravel filled the air. 

***

Parker darted a peek into the bedroom without entering, then flattened herself against the wall once again, where Eliot couldn't see. He was awake, and staring out the window. 

"What the _hell_ are you doing, woman?" Hardison perched on the edge of the garish tasseled armchair and hunched over his laptop keyboard which was set up on an end table. He raised an eyebrow at her and waited. 

Parker pursed her lips and, after a beat, raised the tray she carried as if underlining her point. Hardison only seemed confused. She sighed. 

"It's breakfast," she said. 

"Yesss, it is." Hardison nodded his head and flashed her a fake smile, as though she might flip out any minute if he made any sudden movement—which made her barely able to resist the urge to launch the tray at him. 

"I couldn't make the eggs," she said, in a clipped voice. "And the orange juice didn't work. And we're out of bread." She looked down at the tray, at the solitary bowl of Fruit Loops that were becoming milk-logged and mushy as she stood around. 

Hardison craned his head to see over the partition into the kitchen. From where she stood, Parker could see the orange quarters sticking up out of the juicer. It had stopped working for no apparent reason, and no matter how hard she had pushed down on the rind with the little pressing thing, they simply would no longer budge. She hadn't been able to flip the omelet, and the resulting cheese and egg had turned into an unappetizing, slightly burnt mess. Her second attempt, after a lot of scrubbing of Eliot's fancy cast iron skillet, had been even worse. The egg-fused metal skillet still sat on the stove, and the counter was littered with little pieces of burnt scrambled egg and bits of orange. 

Parker's shoulders sagged, and she looked up in surprise to see that Hardison had walking over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Parker's eyes widened as she realised that, despite her fondness for him, which would always be there, the shiver of excitement that used to accompany it was missing. 

"Take it in to him," Hardison said. She mirrored his rueful smile and bit her lip again as she turned to enter the room. "I'm heading back to my place," he continued, from behind her. "Play nice." The click of the door signaled Hardison's departure, and Parker let her smile fade. 

"Hey Eliot," she said from the bedroom doorway. Only the smallest eye movement away from the window betrayed that he had heard her. "I brought breakfast. Sort of." Her face fell further at the continued unresponsiveness. "Eliot?" 

"Hi Parker," he said. She wouldn't have heard it had she not been paying attention. 

"Okay!" Parker set the soggy cereal aside and bounced onto the bed with forced cheerfulness. "So what are we going to do today?" Eliot's surprised turn towards her made her smile for real. But then he shook his head and went back to staring out the window at the wall of the neighbouring apartment. 

"I don't . . . I'm not good company today," he said. "Go ask Hardison." 

"He left," she said, and shrugged. It was unimportant. She took a couple deep breaths before she closed her eyes. He'd killed. For her. And she was glad. "Don't hate me. Please, don't hate me. I'm sorry. I . . ." Her throat closed on the words and she wasn't able to continue. She took a series of short halting breaths and tried to maintain her composure. 

"What?" Eliot said. The crinkle in his forehead tipped her off that this was his confused-angry tone, as opposed to irritated-angry or sad-angry. It was sometimes hard to tell. 

"You can't even look at me." Parker's breath of a laugh must have held a bit too much self-contempt for Eliot, because he sat up straighter and looked her in the eye. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for." His eyes traced the contours of her face this time before he looked away. "You shouldn't have had to see that . . . It's what I do. I kill. Just like that. Even with everything . . . I'm not the good guy, Parker. I'm not like Hardison." He was quiet for a moment and then continued. "You can leave. It's okay." 

"But, I don't want a good . . ." Parker began, until she remembered the snippet of their hurried conversation under the deck, and gave herself a mental slap _"The Eliot that I know—the Eliot who’s important to me—he doesn’t do that anymore_ ," she'd said. . No matter what she said now, he wasn't going to believe her. She wouldn't be able to explain what she meant; she wasn't good at talking. 

She surged up to meet his lips with her own. With that brief, teeth-clashing kiss, Parker had acted on impulse and she retreated equally quickly. She thought that Eliot's confused, wide-eyed stare probably matched her own. 

She could feel the turmoil of emotions roiling around, as confusion-inducing as the drugs Higgins had given her, and it made her angry. Parker straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin 

"Okay," she said. "Let's lay this out now, right up front. I don't want kids. I don't want to get married. That's not going to change. And I'm not going to say 'I love you'—in fact, I'm making it a rule. Just . . . don't." 

Parker knew how Eliot reacted to ultimatums, and had expected an angry reaction to her forcefulness, but she would rather they go their separate ways now, when she could easily get out, than later, when she'd have to rebuild herself again from whatever bits remained. 

Eliot's eyes had hardened, ever so briefly, at the steel in her tone, before he blinked and his mouth quirked upward. Parker thought she saw hope flare in Eliot's emerging smile, but then he was kissing her, so she couldn't double-check. 

There was no rushed clash of teeth this time, and the warmth of his lips sent goose bumps down her spine and liquid fire to every extremity. His hand came around to cup her cheek with enough gentleness that she wondered if he was under the mistaken impression that she was breakable. She twisted a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer. His small grunt reminded her of his injuries and she let go and started to pull away. 

"Sor—" she began, but Eliot's immediate return to kissing her forestalled the apology. He let his lips trail down her neck, and Parker smiled as she tilted her chin to give him better access. She was pretty sure he'd just accepted her relationship caveats, but she was definitely going to make him confirm it verbally . . . later.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated.
> 
> Written for the Leverage ReverseBang at thebigbangjob.livejournal.org .
> 
> I am grateful to nessataleweaver for not only the great fanmix that sparked this story (found here: http://nessataleweaver.livejournal.com/30771.html ), but for volunteering to beta before I had even written out the ending. 
> 
> Another big thank you to dutch_chick674, who was awesome and went through this even though she's more of a Eliot/Hardison gal. ;)
> 
> Thank you to weaselett for exercising her modly powers to organize this challenge. 
> 
> FYI, here is the cartoon Parker and Eliot watched: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-NrkJ_XW50.
> 
>  Also, I know diddly squat about firearms—my apologies to those who do and who take objection as to how I've included them.  
> -WT


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